In the World of Elves and Men
by Catheryne
Summary: LegolasChloe, HaldirMaiyanna, EomerLothiriel, BoromirMenelwen - Shortly before the Ring of Power wakes to find its Master, four noble fighters face the metamorphosis of their shared destinies.
1. Witch King's Daughter

In the World of Elves and Men

Pairing: Legolas/Chloe, Haldir/Maiyanna, Eomer/Lothiriel, Boromir/Menelwen

Summary: Shortly before the Ring of Power wakes to find its Master, four noble men face the metamorphosis of their shared destinies.

Part 1

In the deep shadows of Mirkwood, away from the eyes of the Silvan Elves, the evil that had before breathed heavily in the trees abated. For the hundreds of years of the Eye's weakness, as Middle-earth began to rebuilt itself once more, the forces of the Shadow slept it seemed.

The Woodland Elves flourished under the guidance of Celeborn and Galadriel, Lady of the Light, and of Thranduil Elvenking.

Gondor, the noble southern land of the Numenoreans, settled under the rule of the Stewards. Rohan strengthened the full muster of its cavalry, training eored of many men to stay watchful even in the weakness of the Shadow.

Under the care of Lord Elrond, in Rivendell, beyond the knowledge of much of Middle-earth, slept the heir to the kingdom of all Free Peoples.

All these went on in the world of Elves and Men.

And so Dol Guldur, which sat atop the bald mountain at the southwest of Mirkwood, was almost forgotten.

Beyond the keen sight of the Eldar, the Witch-King of Angmar installed his second, the Nazgul Khamul, in the fastness of the Hill of Sorcery.

In his need to reclaim part of his humanity that was slowly awakening while Sauron was still weak, the Witch King of Angmar performed a ritual that would give him a daughter from an Outer Realm. He had one need of the connection to his lost life. The Witch King needed a daughter completely without knowledge of the Nazgul.

With heavy black cloak sweeping the keep's rushes, the Witch King spoke low and fast, chanting the long forgotten language of Numenore, from whence he came. Above him lightning sliced the sky.

Khamul rode into the keep, called by the murky air that thickened around Dol Guldur. The Witch King nodded at his second and raised his hand. Immediately upon the silent command, Khamul dropped his head and waited for the completion of the ritual.

Khamul waited at the doorstep for days and weeks before he heard the silence of the chant's cessation. Slowly, he looked up and saw the Witch King standing over a bed. He approached his leader. Khamul's gaze was riveted on the figure sleeping on the bed. Starkly contrasting to the black robes and dark chamber, the young woman had skin so pale and hair so golden that Khamul had to raise an invisible arm to protect his sight.

The Witch King murmured in approval. He reached cold formless fingers to the young woman's face and held his had to her forehead. Khamul dared not oppose the Witch King's choice. The young woman taken from the outer realm bore strange resemblance to the daughter of the Witch King before she drowned in the sundering of Numenore.

_"Lostariel, to the Sea!"_

_The young woman picked up her long skirts and ran to the stairs. She screamed at the sight of the enemy. She then ran towards the windows and out into the balcony, high above the Sea. Her family waited on small boats below._

_"Lostariel!"_

_Her father saw her lovely golden hair whip across her face as she frantically assessed the rampage behind her and the long drop below. He drew his sword to kill the attackers. The Ring burned inside his pocket, for he knew evil possessed the very thing. He had not slipped it on since a barrage of chilling images screamed before his eyes._

_The king saw the panic in the green eyes of his Lostariel, his blooming flower, his only daughter. He slipped on the Ring and fell under the power at the very moment when evil reached for his daughter and she flew, then dropped into the waters below._

Burned away from her brain were the memories of her previous life. To fill the void of her mind, the Witch King instead introduced his own creation of the life his daughter should have lived then. In her he imprinted the firm belief against the Eldar and the light, and all that opposed the Shadows. She stirred in her sleep and opened her eyes. 'Her hair shall grow long,' he decided, after considering the short locks.

"Father?" she breathed.

The low pleasant rumble came deep from the Witch King's chest.

'Chloe,' he said, for in the Outer Realm it was what Lostariel meant. There were no lips to move, yet the sound came to her as if from inside her. 'I must now leave for Angmar. Stay with Khamul and never step foot outside Dol Guldur.'

Sleepily, she nodded. As if from memory she recited her father's concerns. "I know not what fell creatures thrive in the light."

Khamul added, 'Your father and I wandered into the light once. The Elves cursed us and took away our bodies.'

"I understand." Chloe sat up on the bed and embraced what form there was inside the cloaks. "Perhaps soon I can come with you to Angmar. It is our land."

'No. Angmar has been so cursed by the Elves that only we can survive its wretchedness.'

"Then I shall see you upon your return."

Chloe's eyes went to the very small window high up on the wall and wondered about the light.

"Soon," she whispered, "night would come and it will be safe for you to venture out. Soon the wretched Elves will rest, for there is no longer any evil sun."

Not everyone in Middle-earth wanted the sun to set. While in Dol Guldur, the night was a cloak of security, to Gondor it meant more difficulty in searching for a missing princess.

Two lords of Gondor, the brothers Boromir and Faramir stood outside the thriving city of Osgiliath. Prince Imrahil, lord of Dol Amroth, rode with a party of his own men around the territory.

"Have you searched the city?" called Boromir to his brother.

"Aye. A hundred times over and nothing. The princess can be anywhere by now."

"She could not have gone far," Boromir answered. He saw Menelwen, a childhood friend and servant in Osgiliath. "When did you see her last?"

Menelwen looked up at Lord Denethor's eldest. "This early morn, my lord. She had asked to be left alone then."

Prince Imrahil shook his had. "You did not guard her enough," he told Faramir. Then he turned to Menelwen. "It struck you not as odd that Princess Lothiriel had not left her chambers since early morn?"

Boromir saw Menelwen pale at the prince's glower. "Your concern I can well understand," Boromir said gently. "You are rightfully worried and fearful at your daughter's absence. However the fault lies not on Faramir or Menelwen." He turned to his brother and said, "Ride hard in the direction of Ithilien." Boromir jumped onto a horse f his own.

Imrahil shook his head and looked at the far off plains of the land. "It was a cursed day that I allowed a steward to further his ambition with the promise of my daughter's hand."

"You think to blame us?" Boromir exclaimed. In disbelief at this affront, he dismounted and approached the prince. "It was so clear your daughter wanted not to marry a man of Gondor. She ran of her own accord. Could you not have seen this before you contracted her fate to mine?"

Menelwen gasped at Boromir's action. Faramir laid a hand on Menelwen's arm. "Boromir," Faramir called, "time enough for blame when the princess is safely in the keep."

"Speak to your father and him of his plans to install you in a seat that your blood alone cannot grant you," Prince Imrahil advised. "He knew you would never be considered King. Upon marriage to my daughter you shall have the remaining ties to Numenore and thus to the Eldar."

"Lies," Boromir spat. He jumped onto his steed once more and rode towards his brother. "He cannot leave well enough alone," he hissed at Faramir.

The younger man acknowledged his brother's frustration. He had heard the furious conversation and recognized Imrahil's words as truth. Lord Denethor had likely pulled at the strings of fate to grant his favored son the access to the lost kingship of Gondor.

"I serve my country out of love for this city," Boromir continued, "but it is never noble enough for him."

Faramir glanced at the maid Menelwen as she urged her horse nearer to Boromir's. She gave Boromir an understanding smile and reached out a hand. Boromir grasped her hand and squeezed. "You are more noble than any man or king," she assured him.

Faramir looked down at the reins in his hand and kicked his horse's side. "To Ithilien," he commanded into the beast's ear.

Both turned at Faramir's abrupt departure. "Hie to the keep," Boromir murmured. "It is no use for you to wander outside in search of a woman so treasured in her childhood that she cannot fulfill her own responsibilities to her city."

"She was caught in circumstances beyond her control," Menelwen defended. She had served Princess Lothiriel when she arrived. Even when Menelwen's heart rebelled at the thought that the lovely young lady who had had everything since birth was now come to take away Menelwen's most precious treasure, her friend Boromir, Menelwen did her duty to Gondor. "There were many things beautiful about her."

Boromir shook his head and brushed her cheek. "Not all women are like you."

Her face flushed with pleasure and guilt. The love she bore the man before her was cursed from the start. "Go, Boromir. Search the land for your bride." She turned the steed away and cantered back to the city.

Towards far Rivendell, on the opposite side of the land, an Istari rode like wild horses were at his tail.

Aragorn sat on Elrond's table, staring at the beauty of Arwen Undomiel. Suddenly, in walked Gandalf the Grey with his long gray robes.

Lord Elrond rose from his seat, his face serene with no indication that he was concerned by the sudden appearance of the wizard.

"My friend, join us."

Gandalf shook his head and held Elrond's gaze, a silent communication of his dire need. He then turned to the Ranger who had lain down his utensils at his arrival. "If I may speak to Aragorn."

Arwen gasped and looked at Aragorn, then at her father. The Ranger nodded and rose to his feet. He followed Gandalf to one of the few closed chambers in Imladris.

"I would say it's good to see you, Gandalf, were it not for the silent scream in my mind. A cloud of worry envelopes you," Aragorn began.

Gandalf waved his hand to silence the Ranger. He then drew from inside his robe a rolled up parchment that he handed to Aragorn. In turn, Aragorn took the parchment and shook his head at the sight of the old Sindarin writing. He started to return the letter to Gandalf, but the wizard fixed a displeased stare at him. Reluctantly, Aragorn read the words meant only for his eyes.

"I have laid my bonds to Dol Amroth to rest long ago, Gandalf. You know of this," Aragorn said, confused that one he considered a friend would bring to him such plea.

"Prince Imrahil seeks the help not of the King of Gondor," Gandalf clarified. "He seeks the help of a distant cousin. He prays, and so do I, that your heart has not turned to stone against your kin. Lothiriel is in danger."

"I wish only to live in peace, Gandalf. Let me leave the accursed heritage of my forefathers behind!"

Gandalf closed his eyes and sighed. "I had hoped your stay with the Eldar had given you the appreciation for you bloodline. Well," Gandalf opened his eyes and took the letter from Aragorn, "I respect your decision."

"Thank you."

Gandalf turned his back on Aragorn and walked towards th door. "Far be it that you should spend your precious time searching for a young woman who ran away because she abhorred a marriage to the White City for your forced exile. I wish I had told her when I met her as a child that it is her cousin's choice to be forgotten."

"Gandalf!" Aragorn called, stopping the wizard in his tracks. "Young Lothiriel married to the White City?"

Gandalf smiled at Aragorn's words. He wore a somber expression when he turned around. "To young Boromir, to give him the advantage that you had long possessed, had you so chosen to claim it."

"And she ran away?"

"Because of you," Gandalf supplied.

"Why?" Aragorn asked. "She knew me not at all!"

"Faith, Aragorn," Gandalf pointed out. "Tremendous faith she possessed in that invisible tie she had with you. Yet again, perhaps it didn't exist beyond her belief. Did it, Aragorn?"

The Ranger walked towards Gandalf. "I shall look for Lothiriel," he decided, "not as this noble figure of her imagination but as any man concerned for the safety of a lady of Dol Amroth."

"That should be enough for now," said Gandalf with a smile.


	2. Grey Elven Champions

**In the World of Elves and Men**

Part 2

Unlike the Noldo, who in the earliest of years have gone from the River Cuivenen onto the plains of Middle-earth, then eventually to Valinor, and so by these decisions shrouded themselves in the safety and love of Eru and the Valar, the Silvan Elves who remained in Middle-earth and lived through joy and trial had for themselves to hone their skills and body to defend land and life.

In the quest for the Elves' continued survival while they remained in Middle-earth, be from reasons that they were scared, dubious or unprepared for a journey to the Undying Lands, the Mirkwood and Lothlorien elves gathered together once a year, when the moon was brightest and reminded them of their lost stars. In this year it was the Galadhrim, led by its chief Marchwarden Haldir, who traveled from Lorien, the Golden Wood, to Mirkwood, part of the great Greenwood of the Elvenking Thranduil.

Chiefly in the Marchwarden's mind was the intent of bringing glory to his Lady of the Light. As Galadriel bode them fare well, Haldir had vowed to the lady queen to give Lorien a grand year by showing off skills of his men and of himself.

The Galadhrim entered the Mirkwood realm and were thus welcomed by their kin. The trees of Mirkwood seemed to wrap themselves unto each other, blanketing with leaves and wood the protectors, nobles and maidens of the two realms. Haldir looked around and nodded his approval. He reviewed the fundamental setting of the skills testing areas and found them up to his standards. The Galadhrim would easily sweep the prize crowns of Thranduil.

His awareness alerted him of a warm gaze observing his every move. Haldir turned his head to read the trees of Mirkwood, then rested his eyes lower. The Elves of Mirkwood long lived under the trees, and so he would find them hiding on the ground. There was a flash of gold to his right. He quickly turned and saw long golden hair fly past. In the inside he was well pleased that the opposing team sought answers and were challenged enough to watch them. Then, he glimpsed a flash of long slim feminine legs.

Their Mirkwood kin certainly would dare not send a maid for this task.

On the other side of the large tree that shielded her from the Galadhrim, Maiyanna tried to remain as silent as she could while she tried to catch her breath. She had meant only to take a peek, to see if among the Galadhrim was the one warrior she had so briefly seen the year before. Maiyanna had delighted when she spied him leading the Galadhrim into her realm. However, she had not expected the flutter of her heart when he turned in her direction. His senses were sharp, to notice her presence. Her hand closed around the pendant, a simple silver downturned leaf that hung from her neck. Maiyanna wished, deep inside her heart, that the Lorien elf of so many of her dreams would wear her necklace to the skill tests.

On the Lorien elves went, towards the clearing on which Maiyanna's cousin Legolas Prince and the scouts of Mirkwood waited. Legolas Greenleaf had as always been open and gracious. He smiled warmly and clasped the arm of his counterpart.

"Welcome, Haldir of Lorien." Legolas turned to the company behind the Marchwarden. "Welcome, cousins from the Golden Wood."

Haldir nodded in acknowledgment to Legolas' welcome. "We are honored to join you in another Elven joust, prince."

Legolas slanted his head towards the Elven maids to the side. "If you would refresh yourselves, we may begin."

Upon hearing this, Maiyanna picked up her skirts and swiftly raced towards her cousin. She took a vessel of cool water to offer to the Lorien elves. As Haldir offered her his cup to fill, Maiyanna beamed her white gleaming smile at him. She raised her brows to her cousin, who was at that moment looking up at the sky and appreciating the wondrous beauty of the day ahead.

"'Tis a fine day for the reunion of the sundered kin," Legolas expressed. When he looked down, he saw Maiyanna's quiet prompt. He turned to Haldir and said, "Haldir, this is my cousin Maiyanna. She will attend to the needs of the Galadhrim during your stay."

Haldir frowned and studied the appearance of the Elven maid before him, with her too eager smile and too smooth skin. 'Young,' he thought. 'Barely a thousand years alive,' was his conclusion. Aloud, he bowed to the lady. "Your services are unnecessary," he assured her. "The Galadhrim shall serve themselves. One so noble of birth does not serve wardens and scouts."

Legolas appeared well pleased with Haldir's refusal and his words. Still Legolas shook his head and insisted, "Hierarchy exists not in Mirkwood, nor in the spirit of our people. Maiyanna would be honored to serve you."

Maiyanna nodded in agreement. "You are needed, Legolas."

Legolas again clapped on Haldir's back and welcomed him to Mirkwood before leaving. Left with Maiyanna, as the Galadhrim had filed away towards the side of the clearing that was to be their territory for the day, Haldir shifted then remained still.

"Princess--"

"I'm no princess!" she immediately corrected. "I am a distant relation of no consequence."

Haldir shook his head. Had there been anything he had completely understood from the moment he learned the ways of the Elves, it would have been the genealogy of each noble-born Elf. He had vowed to the Valar from the very beginning that he was bound by his duty to the Lady of the Light. Anything that he performed since that very day was for the glory of Galadriel, and in turn, for Lothlorien.

Thus he knew that Maiyanna had been keeping the truth. Being of noble birth, Maiyanna cannot be told wrong by another kingdom's Marchwarden.

"My lady," he repeated, "I must now take my leave."

"Wait!" she called out when he turned to his group. "Please."

Uncomfortable he might have been, but Haldir could only heed the command of an Elf of nobler birth than he. He looked back at Maiyanna to see her unclasping her necklace. "My lady," he began in protest.

"Maiyanna is my name." She held the necklace aloft.

"That I know, my lady," he answered stiffly.

"Call me by my name."

And thus she commanded, he thought. "I cannot accept that."

"I want you to wear my favor as you join the skill tests."

At that Haldir forgot his place and refused. "Your favor must be held by an Elf from Mirkwood."

"But there is no rule that states such," she argued. "Please, Haldir. I would be filled with joy."

Let it not be said that Haldir of Lorien had twice disrespected the wishes of a Silvan noble. He took the thin strand of silver and hung it around his neck. He stepped back when Maiyanna would have offered to help him. Even if he was opposed to wearing a favor of a Mirkwood maiden, Haldir bowed still to the lady and thanked her.

The day was filled with skill tests of every type. The Elves from both camps set themselves against one another in activities such as climbing trees and slopes, finding edible food and listening to the whispers of the trees.

At the end of the day, when Elf after Elf had fallen from both the Mirkwood and Lorien groups, only two were left. It was as Haldir feared. He was to compete against the Prince of Mirkwood.

There were five challenges to complete, which would reveal the ultimate winner for the year. Haldir shook his head at the dilemma that he faced. As Marchwarden of Lorien, he was sworn to win as many skill tests as he could to bring glory to Lorien. Yet at the same time, as Marchwarden of Lorien as well, he could not in good faith take the contest from the Mirkwood prince.

Haldir focused on the task ahead of him. The silver pendant was heavy on his chest, and he knew that the lady Maiyanna had cursed him. She truly had. Of the fifty fighters competing on both sides, the chances of himself ending up on the last leg of the contest against the prince were slim. Yet here he was.

The cursed prince did not make his decision lighter. Legolas approached him before the first skill set and congratulated him for reaching this part of the game. When the running commenced, Haldir reached the goal a split second before the prine of Mirkwood did. When the Galadhrim cheered, and Legolas bowed in his direction, Haldir felt pushed to the end of his willpower. To him, raised to believe in the noble line of his people as he was, winning over Legolas was sheer lack of courtesy.

It came as no surprise to him, given the slender figure of Legolas, that the prince won the next skill set of jumping in form. At that Haldir would not need to feel down. There was no way he could have moved as swiftly and as smoothly as the prince in that skill test.

The prince also beat Haldir in speed and precision during the test for keen sight. Legolas was known, after all, throughout the Elven realm for his solid gift in his keen sight. Once, it was told, he gave the number of leaves on moving trees within the space of five breaths.

Haldir showed his experience as guardian of the surrounding area of Lorien when he started tracking for the fourth skill test. As Marchwarden, Haldir encountered intruders without number. He also honed his skill in trapping food for himself and his brothers. On that fourth skill test, Legolas and Haldir were tied.

The last skill test was the decision. Legolas immediately was the easy choice between the two for his win on keen sight. What Haldir lacked in theory though, he made up for in experience aplenty. In the final test of archery, the two were head to head.

As the two rode in on their mares and trained their bows on a singular target, a glass pendant the size of the tip of a thumb, Haldir saw the pride with which Thranduil King regarded his only son. At that moment, the Marchwarden shifted his bow by a finger's width. The two released their arrows at the same time.

The glass shattered.

Legolas glanced at his opponent and for the first time, Haldir noted that he did not smile. There was no evidence of triumph in the prince's eyes.

The Mirkwood Elves cheered, unaware of Legolas' reaction. Haldir stared at the prince's retreating back. He almost jumped out of his boots when he heard a feminine voice say, "You should not have let him win."

It was no other than Maiyanna shaking her head in disappointment.

"I did nothing of the sort," Haldir denied.

"My cousin is very intuitive," she continued. "You have only served to insult him."

For Haldir, insulting Legolas or any other noble was the greatest crime, more than perhaps fleeing battle. He walked up to the prince who stayed under one of the oldest trees.

"Legolas Prince," he said quietly. "I wish to congratulate you. You have won the year for Mirkwood. I shall take the win next year."

The prince of Mirkwood merely nodded. When Haldir extended his hand, Legolas shook his hand. "I know, Haldir, why you did it. A noble should appreciate honest competition or else he is no noble at all."

"A shade of doubt haunts this victory for you. For this I apologize." Haldir looked back at the event and decided, "You hit the mark, prince. There is no question about your skill with the bow."

"It matters not," Legolas told Haldir. "Come. Let us join the celebration. The joust is not the only reason Lorien and Mirkwood come together every year."

Haldir stepped aside to wait for Legolas to walk before him. Legolas refused to move until Haldir stopped beside him.

"All Elves were born of the Valar," Legolas said. "All woke beside the river. Not one Elf found himself subject to another."

The two returned to the party together. When they arrived, the Elves hushed and Thranduil raised his arms to invite them to him.

"My kin, you all have gathered here. It is auspicious that you have all come here." The Mirkwood and Lorien elves all were intent on the Elvenking. "You will remember long ago when the Grey-elves all possessed the entire expanse of Greenwood. The Necromancer then blanketed the south with shadow and we retreated. Long have we thought ourselves safe when suddenly he was gone.

"Now, something stirs in the long abandoned Dol Guldur, the bald mountain."

At once, Legolas grew concerned. He trained his keen eyes on the south. His father was correct. Activity burned inside the walls of tower.

"I must then elect two scouts to survey the strengths of Dol Guldur. Should the time come for us to attack, we must know if they can wage a war to reclaim the land," Thranduil pronounced.

"I shall go!" Legolas owned at once.

There was no volunteer from the Lorien elves. Haldir looked at Legolas with admiration, for the prince as always was full of passion and eagerness to help. He would much rather return to Lorien to protect its borders than venture to Dol Guldur and leave his responsibility to others. Even now it sat not well on him that others were guarding his lady Galadriel.

"Marchwarden," Thranduil's voice rumbled.

Thus the nobles had made their decision. Haldir slanted his head to acquiesce.

"Your queen commands it," the king said.

"And so it shall be," Haldir answered.

Before the two best warriors of the Grey-elves began their journey, Maiyanna came to them with a pack in her hands. "Lembas," she said, offering the package to them, "so that you will never grow hungry."

Haldir checked the number of his arrows and glanced back, only to see Maiyanna addressing the words to him. He had supposed she was talking to Legolas. "Thank you," he muttered, and took the package from her.

Her face broke into a brilliant smile.


	3. A Matter of Belief

Thanks for replying and making things interesting. Thanks for correcting certain things as well. I appreciate the very adult way that you dealt with things. Let me, for the purpose of my story, clarify a few things.

The connection between Aragorn and Imrahil I have concocted solely for the purposes of this story--that of giving a backstory for Lothiriel that would tie her to the rest of the characters I am manipulating. I will endeavor to write a disclaimer next time I take too many liberties. Cuivienen or the 'Waters of Awakening' is not a river, as I wrote here, nor is it an island. In the Lost Tales, it is a lake in Middle-earth (p 427). I apologize. I distinctly remember it referred to as a river in the Silmarillion though but while I have not had the time to look it up again, I shall stick with the lake. I appreciate everyone's feedback, although I would encourage you all to use the STAR format in Interaction Mgmt. Highlight the task or point which you refer to, the action then the result. You're all brilliant. I'm sure you'll get it.

For the comments on the style and language, thank you. Language was my strength in Advanced Fiction class. Now on to the harsher. I do take exception to your use of 'fangirl' to communicate mediocrity. I am a fan of many; and so were other writers. I see fanfiction as relaxation, an outlet away from the formalities of the writing I do outside the 'fangirl' world as you call it. Money I made from that kind of writing helped me out on my last year of my Creative Writing: Science Fiction course, during which I've completed several published short stories and novels and sold a plot for a trilogy, all the while earning a cum laude. Thus, forgive me if in this I allow myself to relax and not become so restrained by the BOX.

The way you throw the term "Mary Sue" becomes hilarious to me because you started when the OCs have not even played any part yet. Automatically, you jumped to 'Mary Sue' and say I have inserted myself in the story. Do you actually know the authors enough to recognize their identities in the characters?

Criticism is the refuge of the ignorant. That being said, I admit to be a 'fangirl' of true critique.

So as to make this uncomplicated, if you find this story to amateurish and 'Mary Sue,' run along to your make-believe worlds of tight-asses and leave others be. Be thankful there's a medium available on the web that takes away kids from the horrors of real life. If you are willing to go with the flow, then feel free to tell me when something is believable and when something is just too odd. I do not claim to be master at anything. I just want to relax and have fun.

Suffice it to say that will be my first and last attempt of explanation.

In the World of Elves and Men

Part 3

Once a princess of a line so grand as that which resided in Dol Amroth, Lothiriel found herself desperate and weary from her long escape from wretched Gondor of the usurper's sons. She shuddered at the thought of being possessed by men who would take a bride only to further their ambitions. She had thought all men noble, until the moment her father took her hand and told her that she would become mistress of Gondor.

Betrayal lodged in her throat. She had opposed her father's choice, yet she remained unheeded.

"You give freely to another man what your lost kin so rightly deserves."

"Aragorn had chosen to fade into the mediocrity that so infects so many of his kind," Prince Imrahil had reasoned gently, softly.

"He is good and noble," Lothiriel had insisted. "It would do us well to search for him. Gondor must have its rightful heir."

"Gondor has a leader. Gondor has its lords and they are as noble warriors as Aragorn," Imrahil said. He wondered at his daughter's firm grasp of this image she had of a man sh had not met. "We must be certain that the blood of Numenor thins not in Gondor's lineage."

Despite her fervid refusal, Prince Imrahil, one of the last remaining sons of the lost Numenore, took his daughter on the long march to the White City. Even then Minas Tirith stood as testimony to the height of power achieved by the sons of Elros.

"It is now gone," Prince Imrahil had sadly said as they approached Minas Tirith. "It is long gone."

It was at that moment that Lothiriel convinced herself that for her love of her father, she would step into the halls of the City of Kings.

Yet now here she was, hungry, homeless and lost. She had only wanted to leave the desolate life her father had plotted for her. The road to Mordor, they say, is paved with marvelous intentions. It was possible that her endless trek would lead her to the threshold of the Shadow King. How sad it was to face Middle-earth's greatest fear on an empty stomach.

It was sheer fortune that she came upon an abandoned pack mule on the side of the forest. Lothiriel swiftly strode towards it and uncovered a barrel of hard bread. She took one, then bit into it. The flavor was not existent but it calmed the rumbling in her stomach.

Lothiriel started to wander away only to stop in her tracks. Who knew how long she still had to travel? She returned then took about five more. She grabbed a discarded blanket then put her food in it, looped a tie then tightened it.

Thundering hooves brought home the fear of the unknown. She was far from the only parent she had ever known, in a strange land, with no weapon save for five pieces of rock hard bread. Lothiriel looked around and saw a good place to hide. She stumbled upon a discarded pack and dragged it along with her as well.

"Eomer!" she heard out in the field. "We found Tirio's mount. We shall search for the rider."

"It was an Orc ambush!" another voice concluded. She inferred it was this Eomer.

To her front were lined the men on their monstrous beasts of horses, Lothiriel had seen when she peeked.

With bated breath long she waited in the shadows of the trees. The eored rode away and Lothiriel sighed in relief. She had her food still, and the pack she stole from the mount. She looked inside and found small banners of Rohan. The horse sew on the silk was easy to recognize from her reading.

By the mercy of men, Lothiriel found herself within two nights time of sleeping out in the woods with a kind older woman's offer for her to stay in her hut.

Soon, Lothiriel was trading the Rohan banners for food to contribute to the household. Quite satisfied with herself, Lothiriel counts the coins she had collected from those who elected not to pay with their fruits and fowl.

The stomping of horses were all too familiar in Rohan. She did not even think to look up after that noise until the folded banner she was handing to the buyer was snatched from her hands. She turned to glare at the man astride the fine steed. She recognized the rider as one from the Orc ambush.

"'Tis Eomer, nephew of Theoden King," whispered the old woman who took her in.

"May we interest you in our fine banners, my lord?" Lothiriel offered.

Eomer sneered in contempt. He waved the silk banner about and gritted, "Men are falling in battle. And still you make luxury of our most precious symbols."

"Speak to me not of luxury, Prince," she responded. "You were born to a royal family." Lothiriel heard the old woman gasp, and realized her place. She was not to answer so to a member of the ruling family. She was on the defensive. Even when she knew Eomer was no prince, and that Theoden had his heir, she drawled the title to be on the offense.

Eomer jumped off his mount and grabbed the banners from Lothiriel. "Speak not of things you know not." He repossessed the symbols his fallen friends had carried with them to battle.

"You will do well to abide by the same rules," advised Lothiriel.

There it was again. The horrific singing. Try as she might to shut out the voices, Chloe could not. Often she feared that those creatures sang only to scare her. Once again she cursed the Elves who settled in the northern part of the forest. She had half suspected that they stayed there to strike terror in her heart.

A familiar screeching and thunderous whinnying comforted her. It was the delightful giant beast her father and her guardian rode. Once, in a fit of curiosity, Chloe had climbed a steep ladder in the domed library and searched through the tomes and tomes that were lined on the walls. Most of the books had nothing inside it, yet still Khamul and her father would pore through them for hours. When she had found one book that held real writing that she could see with her weak eyes. Weak they were too, according to Khamul. Of course Khamul was extraordinary, for he could see even those that should not be seen. From that book she had found a drawing of nine of those beasts. Winged Beasts, they were called. Some called them fell beasts. Chloe had to admit that at times, when she saw them flying in the direction of her tower, they were terrifying. Yet when they rested after travel they seemed like timid creatures.

After her father left, for he always did in service of the Eye, Chloe slipped into his study for more books. It was then that she found a lovely cylindrical equipment that she hid under her robes and took with her to the topmost tower. There was glass on one end, and a hole in the other. When she peeked through it and trained it outside, towards the place that Khamul had cautioned her never to look, she gasped in delighted surprise at the sight of moving people. They had golden hair and light clothes it seemed, so unlike her heavy robes. It appeared as well that they were having fun. Chloe trained the cylinder towards another direction and saw the tall trees so many. She wished the Bald Mountain had such trees!

Gripped by the boundless delight of seeing the forbidden world beyond Dol Guldur, Chloe slipped the cylinder under her bed and picked up her heavy skirts. She ran towards the flights upon flights of stairs and slipped outside into the shadows. She was safe, her father told her, as long as she stayed in the shadows. He and Khamul saw better in the shadows, and would know best if she was alone.

Unbeknownst to her, two sets of eyes followed her every move. The two Elves who crouched on a tree branch watched her move from shadow to shadow, and wondered what the woman was doing in such dangerous place. Legolas placed his hand on Haldir's arm and informed the warden, "I shall speak with her."

To this, the Marchwarden disagreed. "We are tasked only to observe, prince."

Legolas shook his head and jumped off the tree, landing gracefully on his feet behind the young woman. So smooth were the movements of the prince, Haldir noted, that the maiden did not even know to spin around and look. Instead, the young woman looked only when she heard Legolas speak. He asked, "What do you here in such a dangerous place?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I had not thought anyone was here. Not often do strangers wander here."

"Because it is dangerous," Legolas answered.

"Have you traveled far?" Chloe inquired. She thirsted to learn about the world. They would regale her with some stories of the place from which they hailed.

"Come down, Haldir," Legolas called.

Swift as a cat, another dropped from the tree and bowed to her. "Haldir, my lady. Marchwarden of Lorien."

"I have not heard of this place," Chloe said. She smiled from ear to ear. "You must tell me of it. Is it beautiful?"

"More than any maiden," was the quick reply.

"Legolas, my lady."

She took it then to mean that they came both from the same place. She introduced herself by saying, "You may call me Chloe. I shall get refreshments so stories shall flow from your tongue." Chloe turned and walked towards the tower.

Legolas took her by her arm and stopped her. "Do not wander into Dol Guldur!" he warned. "Evil there persists that you cannot see."

Chloe's brows furrowed and she shook her head. "There is no evil there," she denied.

"No one there lives but myself and my guardian."

Legolas looked back at Haldir. "You must be going in the wrong direction," he offered again.

"You think to direct me to where I live?" she demanded. As she stepped forward once more, Haldir ran towards her and held his arms out. Her eyes widened at the sight revealed. She had so often imagined them when Khamul told her stories of horror, of creatures so full of malice you would burn if you touched them. Chloe stepped back from Haldir. From behind her back met Legolas, and she scampered away. "You're the Woodland Elves?"

Haldir proudly straightened and claimed, "We are."

The scream bubbled up inside her, twirled at the bottom of her throat, before bursting from her lips. Chloe picked up the pebbles at her feet and threw them in the direction of the Elves. "Demons! Stay away!" she screamed. Though they did not hurt them overmuch, Legolas and Haldir still shielded themselves with their hands. "Stay away, you rotten Elves!"

Chloe ran towards the tower and the two Elves looked on in amazement as a black-robed Nazgul met her at the gate and consoled her.


End file.
